


Friends like These

by ElixirBB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Language, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElixirBB/pseuds/ElixirBB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's honestly way too good for these people. Christ, he needs to get new friends. A Sherlock/Molly story told through Greg Lestrade's eyes, before, during and after the Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Fall

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

He needs a drink. Scratch that he needs a _barrel_ of Britain's finest because Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade knows if he doesn't drink copious amounts of alcohol, he's going to kill Sherlock Holmes. (A decision that would undoubtedly have the help _and_ cover-up of many of Scotland Yard's finest.) He's always known the man to be insufferable (bloody freaking genius half the time, but if he's honest with himself, the self-proclaimed Consulting Detective can be a _bit_ of a twat the other half) and he's managed to cope with that for years. Homicidal thoughts aside, he genuinely likes the man. He sometimes (in a fit of insanity, _obviously_ ) believes that the world needs more men like Sherlock Holmes. Then the man opens his mouth and _no, just no_.

He's always been hard to deal with on his good days and on his bad days (well, Greg tends to reach for his gun a little more often than not) but he's never seen him like _this_. He's never seen him so riled up and…vicious. Really, truly _vicious_. (His shoulder became the unofficial headrest of the now widowed-but-really-truly-guilty Mrs. Linda Shilton as she wept while Sherlock carried on with cutting remarks that made even Greg and John wince.)

He doesn't know what's got him so riled up. If anything, he should be happy. John's told him about the number scale ( _the bloody bastard has a number scale_ ) the Shilton case is, in John's words, an eight, so why is Sherlock so…agitated. Is that the word he's looking for? _Agitated_? _Frustrated_ , maybe? _Irritated_. He doesn't know, doesn't even bother asking because he knows he won't get a straight answer from him.

He lets Sally arrest Mrs. Shilton and Greg sighs, knowing that he has to make one more stop before he can actually rest. Then he glances back as he hears Sherlock raise his voice and somehow, he's not surprised to find him yelling something at Anderson (Greg doesn't even bother trying to defend him, he's told Anderson time and time again to _shut his mouth_ in front of Sherlock. Oddly, Anderson never listens to him) and decides to forgo the prospect of rest and instead decides that he'd prefer alcohol.

After throwing his hissy fit (he'd never say the words aloud, he doesn't have a death wish), Sherlock strides to where Greg is standing next to John. Greg likes John. John is reasonable. John is nice. John tends to keep Sherlock somewhat sane. _Somewhat_. Greg claps his hands and rubs them for some warmth, _blimey, it's getting fucking cold out_ , he thinks. "I've got to head to Bart's, interested in joining?" He needs to see Molly so she can go over the autopsy with him. He usually does this after every case and Molly Hooper has the patience of a saint and he likes her. She nice and polite and she's sarcastic in a way that he's sure not many people notice. And she's really bloody _brilliant_. It's become a routine for them.

He sees Sherlock tense for a moment and then he relaxes and blatantly ignores the question. John covers up a smirk by pretending to cough. Sherlock frowns and rolls his eyes. "You are not fooling anyone, John."

"I'm not trying to fool anyone. Are you sure you don't want to go to Bart's?" There's definitely a smirk on John's face. _What am I missing?_ Greg wonders.

Sherlock bristles, "I find myself very exhausted."

"But you're never exhausted." Greg blurts out. "You don't even sleep. You're like a vampire."

Sherlock looks annoyed. "I do require some rest and since the entirety of Scotland Yard is incompetent-" _Oh splendid, another tirade. Christ, he's on a roll today_.

John sighs wearily, "enough, Sherlock. We won't go to the morgue."

Sherlock nods and turns his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in slits when he sees Anderson handling evidence. "Oh, that insipid moron, Lestrade, honestly, where do you find these people? Anderson, you utter and great _baboon_ -"

"He always goes to the morgue after a case." This is true. While Molly is running through the autopsy with him, he has to deal with Sherlock's running commentary from the other side of the room, while he tends to his experiments. Molly always bites her lip and tries to hide the blush on her cheeks. Greg just rolls his eyes and thinks they need to shag and get _whatever this is_ over with.

John clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Yeah…well, he got in a row today."

"Doctor Saunier?" That man hates Sherlock with every bone and fiber in his body, which is why, nearly three years ago, the man practically wept with joy and requested six months stress leave when Molly said that she'd deal with Sherlock. Doctor Saunier has been singing her praises ever since. It's rare they cross each other's paths, but when they do, well, Doctor Saunier doesn't hold back his distaste and Sherlock doesn't hold back his _mouth_.

"Um…no."

"Doctor Andrews?" Doctor Andrews is Bart's other pathologist, one that Sherlock hates dealing with because she is " _a disgusting human being who has absolutely no regard for science and decorum and instead tries to shove her tongue down my throat. It's all very…disgusting."_ Greg certainly wouldn't mind having Doctor Andrews shove _her_ tongue down _his_ throat (and he can officially say that now, he signed the divorce papers two weeks ago. He got a _congratulations_ from Sherlock), the woman is strikingly beautiful in her own right. Tall, black hair, bright green eyes, tan skin (Sherlock wrinkled his nose _"you spend an obscene amount of money and an unhealthy obsession with wanting to be tan even though you live in_ England _, skin cancer will be an issue in the future.")_ nearly all the men Greg knows would fall over their feet for her. Not Sherlock though. _Never_ Sherlock.

"No." At this, John sighs and shrugs, "Molly."

Greg chokes on air. "Molly. _Molly Hooper_? You having me on, John? There's no way _Molly_ would _row_ with _Sherlock_. She's in love with him." _Lord knows why_ , he thinks idly. He personally thinks Molly could do better than getting her heart broken at every turn but she loves him. He doesn't even have to be a detective to see that. Anyone who comes in contact with the two of them will be able to tell that Molly Hooper is head-over-heels in love with a man who will not love her back.

John inclines his head, "well, yes, but even Molly has her limits with him."

"What happened?" Greg asks. Jesus, they're like two old women. His mum would probably cuff him over the head.

"He brought up Moriarty and then made a pretty devastating remark about her. It was…horrible. And I don't just mean the remark, I mean _Molly_. She was devastated and well…she snapped and then Sherlock snapped and then Doctor Saunier-did you know he's retiring, by the way?-kicked us both out and threatened Sherlock."

Greg winces and looks over to where Sherlock is standing, mouth moving at a fast pace, Anderson's face is growing redder by the minute and Sally's arms are flailing about while yelling at Sherlock. "He just had to bring up Moriarty, huh?" He already knows how guilty and shamed Molly feels about the entire Moriarty incident, even though everyone tells her otherwise. Even though he has told her otherwise. Nothing works and she's left to stew in her own self-regret and stupidity (her words, never his.)

"It was a low-blow." John agrees. His eyes take on a worried glaze, "listen, just…check on her, yeah. Make sure she's okay, she was…she was sobbing and it was wretched to hear, really."

Greg tilts his head in Sherlock's direction. "He hear her then?"

John nodded. " _Saw_ her too. It was…odd. His reaction, I mean. Just…look after her, yeah?"

He might as well add baby-sitter to his business card.

* * *

The morgue is quiet as he makes his way down the hall and it really creeps him out. So, he whistles a pop tune that Sally got stuck in his head as he makes his way towards Molly. He's already messaged her beforehand, to let her know he was coming down, so it doesn't surprise him to push open the doors and see her at the bench, with a folder beside her and two cups of coffee waiting. She's already sipping hers.

"Nice night, innit, Molly?" He asks cheerfully.

She turns her head to look at him and Greg winces. She looks awful. Her eyes are red, her face blotchy and she's slouching, as if she's trying to dig a hole inside herself and crawl in. God, he'd give anything to punch Sherlock Holmes now and finds himself (not for the first time) wondering what he said that made her snap and cry. She deflates even more, "John told you, then?"

Greg gapes.

She gives him a little smile. "It's not rocket science, Greg. Just _observation_." She says the word bitterly and Greg knows then and there that _this is_ a big deal.

"Right. Well, the autopsy can wait. However, I need a drink, quite possibly seven, so get up. Let's go. We're going to a pub and you're going to tell me exactly what he did." He doesn't let her speak and instead grabs the sleeve of her lab coat and drags her out the door.

He's honestly way too good for these people. Christ, he needs to get new friends.

* * *

Molly spills the entire story out to him. Needless to say he's angry.

"It shouldn't even be that big of deal." She says over the crowd. They're sitting close together in the corner, both of them nursing their beers. "It's not the _worst_ thing he's ever said to me but it's just…it's all a bit too much and then there was _Christmas_. _God. Christmas_ and that Adler woman and I just…snapped."

Oh. Christmas. _Yeah._ He remembers that too. He almost regretted not taking his gun with him that night. He wouldn't have killed him. Maybe a shoulder shot, through and through. Either way, he would have _deserved_ it.

"Adler? Who?"

Molly's eyes dim and her shoulders hunch. "A dead dominatrix whom Sherlock identified by _not her face_."

Oh. _Oh_. He cursed. "Jesus Molly."

Molly nods and leans closer to him. "Am I pathetic? I think I'm pathetic. My best friend Mary, tells me I'm being pathetic and that I should get over him. I've _tried_ and when I tried I dated a criminal mastermind whose main goal in life is to kill people and the man I love. Oh dear Lord, _I love him_."

Greg nods understandingly. The woman he loves (and really, let's not pretend, he still _loves_ his ex-wife, God, he's an _idiot_ ) loves to have sex with other men. He gestures to their cups. "We haven't had nearly enough to drink."

After he gets them another round, Molly shakes her head. "Enough about me, what about you?"

"I'm officially divorced." He tells her.

Her eyes soften and she places her head on his shoulder. "Sorry, Greg." She pauses. "So, it was true then. The P.E. teacher?"

"And the History teacher. And the Math teacher. But really, I can't fault her for that one. I've seen the Math teacher and if I weren't straight, I'd do him too."

Then she laughs.

He figures if he can make Molly laugh more tonight than that's good enough for him.

* * *

He gets a message as soon as he's made sure Molly has made it into her flat all right from Sherlock telling him to come to 221b at once.

Despite his body protesting and his head starting to feel like an elephant has decided to make a home there, he slips back into the taxi and tells him to take him to 221b Baker Street. He's paid the cabbie and hasn't even knocked yet when the door flies open and John and Sherlock greet him.

"No time to talk. Time to solve a murder." Sherlock says as he hails another cab.

"What murder?" He glances at his phones and wonders if he missed a call. He didn't.

"Shilton." John supplies.

"We solved it."

Sherlock shakes his head and slides into the cab, Greg following and John taking the other side. "She had an accomplice."

"Of course she did." Greg rolls his eyes and tells the cabbie to take them to Scotland Yard. "How'd you figure?"

Sherlock opens his mouth and then stops. Greg would have laughed at the way his head turned but his icy cold blue eyes are trained onto him and then the strangest thing happens. Sherlock Holmes _sniffs_ him.

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock!" John snaps.

Sherlock frowns. "You smell like alcohol and grease. Obviously you were at a pub. It didn't take you long to get here so somewhere central, somewhere close. You were obviously indulging in _Guinness_ beer, even though you prefer scotch, so you were with someone who either doesn't normally drink or prefers _Guinness_. Not your ex-wife, since she prefers other _men_ but the oddest smell…you smell like dead bodies-"

"What?" The cabbie blurts out, his head spinning to face them.

" _OI_!" John yells, " _watch the road_!"

"With a hint of cherry." He continues. Greg can see the way his jaw clenches and a glance down at his hands and Greg can see Sherlock fisting his pants. "Detective Inspector," he says, his words coming out through his teeth, "what were you doing with _Molly Hooper_?"

Greg huffs and rolls his eyes. "Having a couple pints since _someone_ -" he pokes him in the shoulder rather roughly, "decided to take her heart and positively _smash_ it. She told me everything you _fucking prick_."

"I didn't realize you two were friends." Sherlock responds his eyes flaring.

Greg smirks. "Guess there's always _something_ you miss then."

John coughs to cover a laugh and Sherlock sulks.

(He wonders if John would be up for the idea of locking Molly and Sherlock in a closet and have them just shag and get _whatever this is_ over with already. Greg doesn't even need to be a detective to know that Sherlock Holmes is jealous. Hm…Sherlock Holmes is jealous of him. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.)

Christ, he _really_ needs to get new friends.

 


	2. During the Fall (and a little before)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg struggles to come to terms with Sherlock's death. Molly helps him get through it. He meets a woman. He meets Molly's friend "Dennis from Uni" and things...well, things are never what they appear to be.

He and Molly start going to the pub as often as they can. They talk. They laugh. They drink (sometimes a little too much) but most of the time they'll bitch about everything. (Most of the time they'll bitch about Sherlock but Greg will nearly always talk about his ex-wife and Molly will always bring up Doctor Andrews and how, if life is in any way shape or form fair, she should be fired for her unprofessionalism.)

Greg wouldn’t mind her being unprofessional with him. He told Molly as much one night and instantly regretted it. (For such a tiny little person, she can pack quite the punch; his shoulder was _still_ sore the next day.)

It's because of their nightly get-togethers that he gets into a row with Sherlock.

They're at the crime scene of a case that's taking longer than expected to solve, so he sends a message to Molly telling her that he won't be able to make it tonight.

"Isn't it rather cruel what you're doing, Lestrade?"

Greg frowns and looks at John who looks just as confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Molly." Sherlock says her name with ease (but Greg can hear how careful he says it, drawling out each syllable) "is it not just _as_ cruel to get her hopes up only to dash it when she realizes you have _no_ romantic feelings for her."

John groans and Greg sees red. (For the record, Greg would be lying if he didn't think Molly was cute. He entertained the idea of them together _, he was on the outs with his wife, it was only natural_ , but then quickly shook it away because she's not the kind to wreck a marriage and _she_ most definitely _doesn't_ have any romantic feelings for him. Just for Sherlock. _Stupidly brilliant Sherlock_.)

"You _prick._ You think I'm with Molly all the time because I've got some romantic feelings? She's a _friend_. A very close friend, not that I have to explain anything to you and I love her but not in the way you're thinking and most certainly not in the way that you can ever understand." It's been a rough case and Sherlock's been harder to deal with than usual, which makes _Greg_ more agitated than he usually is.

His eyes flash with something Greg can't place and John is swinging his head back and forth between the two of them as if this is some sort of riveting tennis match (Greg hates tennis.) "Your sentimental feelings-"

"Oh come _off_ it." Greg snaps and suddenly he has the attention of the few other people at the crime scene, "she needs a friend, Sherlock. One who _isn't_ a mastermind criminal using and abusing her-" (Sherlock flinches, just a little bit, and to someone who wasn't looking, they wouldn't have even noticed it, but Greg notices) "and one who _isn't_ a high-functioning sociopath who uses her _sentimental_ feelings to get what _he_ wants. And don't you _dare_ , for one fucking second say you don't, because you _do_. You know it. I know it. John knows it and even Molly knows it but she does everything for you anyways because she _loves_ you."

He looks around "get back to work!" he growls at everyone. Then he looks back at Sherlock, whose eyes are hard as they glare at him. "It's not romantic Sherlock." He says gently, quieter than before, "it'll never be romantic and you just…" ( _need to get a fucking room before I blow my head off because of your unresolved tension_ ) "…need to open your eyes."

"My _eyes_ , Detective Inspector," (He uses _Lestrade_ everyday on an _almost_ friendly, well, as friendly as Sherlock can get, basis and he uses _Detective Inspector_ when he's pissed. He's pissed now) "have, to the contrary belief, always been open." He looks at the crime scene, "You're looking for the neighbor's daughter." And then he storms away.

(Greg idly wonders if that could count as a confession of having some sort of feelings towards Molly. Knowing Sherlock, probably _not_.)

John looks sheepishly at him.

"You know," Greg says, "some days I really wish I could arrest him."

(A couple days later, it physically pains him to have Sherlock arrested for something in his heart of heart's he know he _didn't_ do.)

(A couple days after that he feels his life bottom out.)

* * *

He's suspended. Which doesn't really come as a surprise to him but he supposes that it just adds salt to the wound.

Sherlock Holmes is _dead_. It's surreal and Greg can't help but feel responsible. He never doubted him. At least not really, he's seen the good in Sherlock, knows that it exists (even though he denies it, repeatedly.)

He considered (and still does consider) Sherlock Holmes a friend (which is _definitely_ a reason why he should get new ones) and now he's _dead_.

The thing is, he never even got to say goodbye.

At least not really.

* * *

He goes to the funeral and isn't in the least bit surprised when John punches him.

He has it coming. He is surprised though that it's taken him this long to punch him.

And then Molly is there, holding out a handkerchief to his face. Oh _God_. _Molly Hooper_. Molly who will always love Sherlock is attending his funeral and showing sympathy to one of his _executioners_. He would laugh hysterically if it weren't completely inappropriate for a funeral (but it is Sherlock they're burying, so he figures the more inappropriate, the better.)

"John's devastated." Molly says softly, she sits on the bench next to him as he presses the handkerchief to his face. "Mrs. Hudson is devastated. _You're_ devastated."

"And you?" He asks, there's something in the back of his throat and it makes him want to vomit. "Are you devastated?"

She bites her lip and looks away. Her eyes flit around the cemetery and she stares at one spot shrouded by trees. There's a distant shadow and but Greg can't make out who it is. _Probably the groundskeeper_ , he thinks. He touches Molly's elbow and she turns her head to him. "Are you devastated, Molly?"

"I think," she says slowly, as if trying to get the words out, "I'm broken."

If Sherlock weren't already dead, Greg would seriously consider killing him.

* * *

He's reinstated without much difficulty, there's some spewing about procedure and Greg doesn't pay attention to it. Finds that he doesn't care. The cases are hardly interesting to him anymore and he finds himself looking to his side, as if waiting for Sherlock's brilliant deduction, only to see Sally or Anderson or _someone else_.

(He yells at Anderson one day. And it's not like he snaps or tells him to shut-up but he _really_ yells. Arms flailing and face red. Anderson made the mistake and commented on how much better it was with Sherlock dead one day and Greg lost it. Certifiably _lost_ it. According to others, he even made Anderson cry. Greg doesn't have the patience or heart or the fucking _sentiment_ to give a shit.)

John forgives him. Understands what he had to do. Understands that _Sherlock_ would understand what he had to do.

It does little to ease the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

(And for some reason, he gets the feeling he's being watched.)

* * *

He doesn't really see Molly much anymore. She's taken some time off, which is reasonable, but she's not even answering his texts or his phone calls and he misses her. He wants to talk to her. He wants to make her understand that _he believes in Sherlock Holmes._

Which is why he goes over to her flat one night after a long shift at the Yard with a bag of Guinness cans in his hands. He presses the button to her flat and it takes her a few moments to answer. Her voice is breathless and flustered over the intercom. "Yes?"

"It's me." He says, "You've been ignoring me."

There is silence and then, "come up." She lets him in with a buzz and he makes his way to her flat door. He can hear rummaging behind the door and he thinks he hears her snapping and a male voice snapping back. It sounds oddly familiar and Greg's heart beats faster. He's imagining things. He's _losing his fucking mind_. (This is what he thinks, because he can't _afford_ to think anything else.)

He knocks and Molly throws open the door. She's wearing a t-shirt and jeans, her feet bare. Her hair is messy and her eyes have taken on a sort of glazed glow. He frowns and looks deeper into the flat. "Am I…interrupting anything?"

She shakes her head rapidly. "No. Of course not. Make yourself at home. Cup of tea?"

He gestures to the bag. "Brought some Guinness."

She smiles genuinely and takes the bag from his arms, setting it on the floor and grabs two cans from the bag, she hands him one. She looks down the hall, breathes a sigh of relief and cracks open a can. He follows suit and sits down on her couch.

He studies her flat. It's messier than he thought it would be. (Not nearly as bad as his place during the few couple of weeks his ex-wife left him.) He notices things around the flat, men's clothes for instance and he can see the beginnings of a complex experiment on the far side of her kitchen counter. "Molly," he says carefully, "is there a man here?"

She gulps. "My friend, Dennis from Uni. He's staying here a couple weeks until he gets his bearings. He's a scientist. Biologist." She turns her head around and looks at him. "How are _you_?"

And so, because she asked (so nicely too), Greg confesses everything.

* * *

"You think he knew?" Greg asks her.

"What?"

"Sherlock." He doesn't miss the way her face freezes at his name. "Do you think he knew that I believed in him? That I've always believed in him and I didn't mean to…Christ, I never thought…" He trails off and Molly lays her head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her in closer, relishing in the comfort of someone who knows what he's going through.

"I think," she says, "that he's always known how much you believe in him. How much we _all_ believe in him."

( _Thank God for Molly Hooper_ , he thinks, but he still thinks he should _try_ and get new friends.)

* * *

Four months after Sherlock jumps off of Bart's rooftop, Greg goes out with a few guys from the Yard. Literally two minutes after they sit down, he gets bored. _They're so boring._ Oh _God_ , even the voice _inside his head_ is beginning to sound like Sherlock.

They talk about women (Doctor Andrews rejected him the other day. He lamented to Molly) and they talk about football (Manchester United won against Liverpool and he lamented to John) and they talk about the rise and fall of the economy (prices everywhere are being jacked up and he lamented to Mrs. Hudson as he helped her with groceries the other day, she's forgiven him too.)

He's contemplating how many chips one can eat before they get sick when a name is mentioned and it makes his blood run cold. "…the morgue chick." ( _Chick? Who the fuck uses the word chick anymore other than pubescent little boys?_ )

"The hot one or the shy one?"

"The shy one. Always gotta watch out for the shy ones. The one who was hung up on that fucking fraud." The man (Steve) cuts his eyes to Greg, "you must `ave been pissed to know you got duped, yeah?"

Greg takes a deep breath and counts to five. (It doesn't help but _God_ help Steve and the rest of these _morons_.) "First, never, ever mention Molly Hooper, _ever_ again. You don't know her and _I'll_ ensure you _never_ do. Secondly, Sherlock Holmes, even _dead_ , is a better man than you'll ever be, and he's _not_ a _fraud_. He is- _was_ -brilliant and solved all the cases your pathetic mind couldn't even comprehend."

Steve's eyes glow with anger and embarrassment and he stands up, body tense, _splendid, a fight, just what I need._ "Look, Lestrade, it's not my fault that you're having such a shitty time at life because you don't know how to pick friends properly-" Steve is cut off because Greg's fist has just flown into his mouth. _Shit, that fucking hurt._

He turns around and walks away, fuming with anger. He _does_ have friends. He has a pathologist who is trying to get over losing the one man she always loved, an ex-army doctor trying to worm his way out of a deep depression after watching his best friend kill himself and an old lady who is trying to get by after losing the man she considered a son. Or at the very least a great-nephew.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn't even realize the three teenage boys until they're in front of him. _Wonderful_ , he thinks, _a mugging_. Then he looks at them and rolls his eyes. _Honestly, youth today_.

* * *

His nurse is an attractive woman named Lizzie. She has blonde hair and light brown eyes and she has freckles scattered all over her body. She's twenty-eight and has two older brothers. She blushes every time she looks at him. She has a soft voice and her hands patch him up expertly. "There," she says, "You should be just fine, Detective Inspector. Make sure not to get your stitches wet."

"Greg." He tells her, "You can call me Greg." He's about to ask her out, no matter how inappropriate it is when he's suddenly interrupted.

"I'm your emergency contact?" Molly exclaims (she phrases it as a question, _oh_ , did he forget to tell her that?) "How come I didn't know I was your emergency contact? You beat up three _teenage_ boys too. Did you have an interesting night, Greg?"

He grins at her. "Very. I never get into this much trouble when I'm with you."

"Because I'm a bit smarter than the Neanderthals you're trying to associate yourself with."

"You know," he muses, "you're beginning to sound a bit like Sherlock."

There's a pause and Lizzie clears her throat. "Well," she says, clapping her hands and her eyes disappointed, "your girlfriend is-"

She's cut off by Molly snorting. "God no. _No_. I'm not his girlfriend. Just his friend. Greg, please tell her we're just friends."

"Just friends." Greg reassures Lizzie. "Actually, Lizzie, would you…I mean…I was wondering."

"I'd love to." She tells him. She gives him a soft smile and slips a card into his jacket pocket. "Just…give me a call when you've got time, yeah?"

She leaves with a smile and nod to Molly.

Molly grins cheekily at him. "Look at you, a Casanova."

"Shut-up." He scratches his head and glances at her. "How's Dennis?" He's heard little about this mysterious Dennis, just that he's a friend from Uni and stays with her every now and then.

She freezes and gives him a tight smile. "He's fine."

* * *

Nine months after Sherlock jumps off of Bart's rooftop, he's on his way to see Molly when he sees Molly and a man. _Dennis_ , he thinks.

He's tall (nearly as tall as Sherlock was) blonde hair, glasses and wearing jeans, a rugby shirt and expensive looking shoes. Since, Molly has been avoiding any and all questions about Dennis (not only from him but from John and Mrs. Hudson too), he thinks this will be his only time to interrogate the man. "Molly!" He calls out. "Glad I caught you. Oh- _you_ must be _Dennis_."

"Molly," he has a Scottish accent, "what have you been saying about me?"

"That we're friends from Uni." She tells him. (Is it just Greg or are they having a silent conversation with their eyes? Nevertheless, it's _rude_.)

Greg puts his arm around Molly's waist and hugs her, "you still coming out this weekend with us, right? Lizzie's begging for you to come. You can come too, Dennis." He adds as an afterthought.

Dennis smiles tightly but doesn't look at him. Instead, Greg's eyes follow where Dennis is looking at and they're glaring at his arm around Molly's waist. One glance at his hands and he sees Dennis fisting his pants (he's getting a weird sense of déjà vu.) His eyes are brown but they have blue specks in them and when he looks at Greg, his face has an easy smile but his eyes are almost issuing a demand to _get his arm off of Molly_. Then, it's over, his face relaxes and he's smiling pleasantly as if Greg didn't _just_ get a glimpse at a fierce burning _jealousy_. "Sorry." Dennis says, "I'll be off by then. Just came to see Molly." He grabs her hand and pulls her to him and winces (slightly, if one weren't looking, they would have missed it, but Greg was looking) when she collides with his side.

"See you this weekend, Greg. I promise." She gently pulls Dennis inside the flat and they disappear from his sight.

_Well no wonder she's seeing him. He's a blonder, Scottish version of Sherlock._

(Not for the first time and definitely not the last time, Greg considers getting new friends.)

* * *

Mary Morstan is John's new girlfriend. She is perhaps his longest girlfriend. They met through Molly after Mary moved back to London. The two women were best friends in Uni and continued to be best friends.

They're at the pub (he, Lizzie, John, Mary and Molly…no one mentions that there should be a third person sitting next to Molly) and they're talking and laughing.

"You don't understand." Mary says, "I had the most _horrible_ taste in men. I used to take Molly with me on dates and make her sit in the corner as my wingman. Just to ensure the man I was with wasn't a _complete_ psycho and would murder me by the end of the night."

Molly snorts in her beer. "You don't even want to know how many times I thought that was actually going to happen."

"Molly? Molly Hooper, was your defense?" John asks.

"Oh!" Mary says with a wave of her hand, "Don't let her shyness fool you. She's a right fierce one."

Molly rolls her eyes and nudges Lizzie, "she's drunk. She _always_ sings my praises when she's drunk."

Lizzie laughs and Greg could kiss Molly. They've all welcomed Lizzie with open arms but it's Molly who is always there for her (for _them_ really.)

"So, you know Dennis then." Greg says to Mary.

Molly freezes (she _always_ freezes when he mentions Dennis.)

Mary looks confused. "Dennis? Who's _Dennis_?"

"Dennis from Uni. You remember him." Molly says quickly.

Mary frowns. "No. I never knew any Dennis. Actually, come to think of it, I've _never_ met a Dennis at all. Hm…weird, right?"

"He was in Biology." Molly says, staring at Mary imploringly.

"Molly- who in the _hell_ -" then Mary falls silent and stares at Molly, after a few moments Mary is nodding her head, albeit hesitantly. "Oh. Right. _That_ Dennis. Must have slipped my mind. I need air. Molly, come with me. _Now_." She snatches Molly's wrist and pulls her out of her chair and out the door.

(There's something strange going on and Greg doesn't like being left out.)

* * *

"Is he a criminal?" Greg asks her.

"Who?"

" _Dennis_. Molly, is he a criminal, does he hurt you at all?"

She's silent and then she starts laughing. " _NO_! Oh, God no. No. It's nothing like that. Please, Greg. _God, no_. I promise."

* * *

Three years after Sherlock jumps off of Bart's rooftop, he thinks that life is starting to get back to normal.

Molly is still _seeing_ Dennis, although no one _else_ ever sees him, John is convinced he's a ghost, Lizzie is convinced that he's just always busy, Mrs. Hudson is convinced it's romantic (he's learned never to argue with that woman, bad hip or not), Mary says nothing.

Greg is convinced that Molly is keeping something from him. _From all of them_.

Which is why he isn't surprised (okay, maybe he is) at being awaken by his phone buzzing with a message early one morning. He grabs at it and stares at the screen.

_I need you. It's urgent. Come to my flat – MH_

He's out of bed faster than he can even comprehend. Lizzie groggily sits up, "everything alright?"

Not wanting to worry her, he kisses her forehead, tells her it's a case and that he'll be back later. He quickly brushes his teeth and is out the door, pulling on his shoes and slipping into his jacket. It's almost four in the morning and there's hardly any traffic, so he makes it to Molly's flat in exactly fifteen minutes.

(She gave him a key years ago and Greg has never been this happy to use it as he is now.)

"Molly?" He calls out as soon as he opens her flat door. "Molly, where are you? If that _wanker_ has done anything to you, I'll fucking _kill_ him. And John will help me hide the body."

She's sitting on the couch and she smiles at him nervously. "No, it's not…Greg…there's something." She sighs and looks over his shoulder. "Before you do or say anything, I just want to say I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There is a ball in the pit of his stomach. "Sorry for what? Molly?"

"She'll say yes." A deep and _very_ familiar baritone voice echoes through the flat. "The woman you're seeing, Lizzie, is it? She'll say yes. As it stands, she already knows about the ring, really, Lestrade, you're bedside drawer? You were practically asking for her to find it. She's not saying anything because she doesn't want to rush you as she knows you've already been divorced. However, she will infinitely be a better match for you than your previous wife."

Greg frowns. " _Dennis_?" Why is Molly's tall, blonde, glasses-wearing and Scottish boyfriend talking like Sherlock? ( _Actually, where the fuck is his Scottish accent and glasses?_ )

He rolls his eyes. "And here I thought, you were the only competent one in Scotland Yard. Enough chit-chat, _yes_ , I'm alive. _No_ , I never died. _Yes_ , I fooled everyone, _how dare I_? Time is of the essence, as they say, we need to catch Sebastian Moran and I'm going to help you do it. You'll get that promotion and everything will go back to normal."

"Why are you blonde?" Is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. He shouldn't be blonde. His brain can barely connect anything, right now. It's four in the fucking morning.

"Disguise, Lestrade. I'm supposed to be dead, _remember_?"

Greg turns to Molly and points to him. "Why _isn't_ he dead?"

"It's a long story." Molly says.

"You're okay though?" He asks. At her nod, he breathes in a sigh of relief and pulls her to him in a bone-crushing hug. "You scared me, Molly. Lizzie, not mention, everyone else, would have had my head if something happened to you."

"Yes, yes, she's _fine_." Definitely-not-Dennis-and-definitely-not-dead-Sherlock says. He sticks a hand between them and pushes Greg away from her. "The issue at hand is that we need to stop Moran and then I will be able to come home and you can continue to solve cases, with my help of course."

Greg looks between Molly and Sherlock, swinging his head back and forth between the two of them as if this is some sort of riveting tennis match (he hates tennis.) Sherlock is glaring childishly at him and Molly is flushed red. Oh. _Oh_. Then he starts laughing. _Loud, long and hard_. "You're not dead. You're really _not_ dead. Mrs. Hudson is going to cry and John will probably really _kill_ you but you're not dead and Molly _helped_ you fake your death. We've been mourning you for _no reason_. I should be pissed. No, wait. I _am_ pissed but I'm ecstatic that you're not dead because I really don't think I can handle anyone at the Yard anymore. You're right by the way; the lot of them really are incompetent. But you're not dead." ( _And most definitely in a something with Molly. Pity, and I was so looking forward to locking them in a closet_.)

"Greg." Molly says hesitantly, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Oh, Molly. I'm never going to be better."

(Despite the fact that Sherlock _isn't_ dead and Molly most definitely helped him and then proceeded to lie to them for three years about it, he can't help but be _happy_. Then he thinks that he really _really_ needs to get new friends, because this stuff? This doesn't happen to _other people_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have posted this before: Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Also: I love you guys. `Nuff said. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. After the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's after the Fall and things finally start coming together and Greg realizes that his life is great. Friends and all.

It's because of Sherlock's elaborate (not to mention quite dangerous and possibly illegal) plan that they arrest Sebastian Moran. Greg is a bit fuzzy on the details (which probably has to do with the fact that Moran tried to _choke_ him to death) but all he knows is that Moran is going to be locked up for a very _very_ long time and Sherlock will be able to come back home, _alive_.

Huh. _Sherlock is coming back home. Back from the dead_. If his entire body didn't hurt so much, Greg would probably laugh. As it stands, he's content to sit and let the paramedics look after him. He messaged Molly, told her to let Lizzie know that he'd most likely be coming in for scans and to get a first-aid kit ready because Sherlock is pretty banged up too. Oh and to let John know.

(Greg is definitely _not_ missing _that_ reunion.)

* * *

John punches Sherlock in a very similar fashion to how he punched Greg all those years ago but for some reason it's all very bittersweet, because as soon as he punches him, John busts out into tears ( _manly tears_ , John will continue to lament for the years to come, _they were manly tears_ ) and hugs his best friend whom he thought was dead.

They're all crowded into one room (Sherlock, John, Molly, Mary, Lizzie and himself) and he knows it's against hospital policy but the lot of them have never been one to follow rules, so why start now, right?

Lizzie is reprimanding him for being so _fucking stupid_ , all the while looking at him with love and adoration and he feels his heart swell (when he gets home tonight, he's not letting her out of his sight nor out of their bed), Mary is rubbing John's back as he rants and raves at Sherlock and then he collapses onto a chair and shakes his head. "You have _no_ idea how _happy_ I actually am."

Molly is doing her best to patch up Sherlock. She smiles lightly at him and rolls her eyes when he pouts and winces. He really is such an overgrown man-child sometimes. Sherlock for his part, is following her every movement with his eyes. He'll take his eyes off of her every now and then to say something (that something usually _always_ has Greg and John groaning, "shut-up, Sherlock.") but his clear blue eyes will always go back to Molly, assessing her, making sure that she's actually there.

(Greg doesn't say it aloud, but he thinks to himself that not even heaven and hell will be able to remove Molly from Sherlock's side.)

"So," Lizzie says quietly to Greg as she follows Greg's gaze to Sherlock whose lips are lifting in a small smile at something Molly is rambling on about, " _that's_ Sherlock Holmes."

Greg nods. "Oh, Lizzie. Our lives have just gotten so much more interesting." He says with a rough voice.

* * *

Greg does get the promotion but he declines it.

He _likes_ being Detective Inspector. If he took the promotion, he _wouldn't_ be Detective Inspector anymore. He likes being on the scene, he likes piecing things together and most of all, and he likes working with Sherlock. If he were to take the promotion, he wouldn't be able to do any of that and he knows for a fact that none of the other Detective Inspectors would call Sherlock to consult.

(And okay, so maybe Greg is being a little bit selfish but they _just_ got Sherlock back and he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious to know how he took down Moriarty's network. He won't say a thing about it and Greg doesn't know if it's for their own good or for Sherlock's.)

Everyone at the Yard looks at him like he's crazy for turning the promotion down. Greg doesn't care. Lizzie understands and even agrees with him. Sherlock looks oddly pleased with himself. John shrugs. Mary smiles.

Greg and Molly share matching grins.

* * *

Greg and Molly still meet at the pub. Most of the times it's with the entire group (which means they have to _drag_ Sherlock out by having Molly promise to bring him body parts) but sometimes, it's just Molly and Greg and Greg finds that he likes those nights the best.

"So," he says conversationally, "you and Sherlock."

She shakes her head, sighs and smiles sadly. "There is _no_ me and Sherlock. There's just me and then there's Sherlock. And…I'm okay with that."

Greg frowns. "I'm _not_."

Molly laughs. "It's fine. Besides, he's back, you know? I don't care about anything romantic or flowers or anything, he's just back and alive."

"Molly," Greg asks, leaning forward. He's been wanting to ask this question ever since he found out about Molly's part in Sherlock's fake death. He just doesn't know how to ask it without coming off seeming…well, like a _prick_. "I need to ask you a question and I don't know how…" he trails off.

She smiles knowingly. "Why me?"

Greg nods, relieved that Molly gets it. Molly gets _everything_.

Then she smiles sadly at him again and his heartstrings pull against his chest. "He told me I count."

* * *

He leaves Molly's flat after he makes sure that she's gotten inside safely and walks to his car, only to stop and groan as a sleek black car comes to a stop beside him. The door opens and Greg grudgingly gets in.

Mycroft Holmes. He's met the man once, can obviously see why Sherlock has a love/hate/indifferent/petulant relationship with his older brother. If he had an older brother like Mycroft, he'd hitch a hissy fit every time he'd see him too.

"What can I do for you?" Greg asks, cutting to the chase. He's learned not to make small talk with this particular Holmes (well, really, _any_ Holmes.)

"Molly Hooper." Mycroft says, his voice sounding regal. _What a ponce_ (Greg would wager all of his money that Mycroft was made fun of as a kid, but then, he can't really even _see_ Mycroft as a kid.)

Greg narrows his eyes. "What do you want with her? I swear, between the two of you, I'm surprised Molly hasn't _murdered_ either one of you yet." Eh…maybe he should reconsider that statement, since technically, Molly _did_ kill the youngest Holmes. But not really. It's still confusing to him.

The woman, Anthea, puts a small key in Mycroft's hand and then Mycroft hands it to Greg. "This," He says, "is the key to 221c. Only Mrs. Hudson has it and I persuaded her to let me have it. Miss Hooper is terrified of small spaces so a closet will do her no good. However, 221c is spacious enough for them to breathe and discuss."

Oh. _Oh_. Mycroft Holmes… _matchmaker_. Who would have thought? He looks at him wearily and takes the key anyways. He may not use it, but it would always be something to have in handy. "Why are you doing this?"

Mycroft smiles thinly. "My brother abhors sentiment yet throughout the past three years I have seen him struggling, quite amusingly, I may add, to come to terms to what he feels for Miss Hooper. It grows tiresome and if he does not act than Miss Hooper will move on. Of this, I am absolutely certain. I quite like Miss Hooper."

It's good enough for him. So, he nods and gets out of the car. Before he closes the door, he leans in. "Oh and Mycroft? It's _Doctor_ Hooper."

* * *

Before he has a chance to even put his plan into action, someone is murdered.

Well, that's not much of a surprise really, seeing as how _this is London_. But _Operation Get-Molly-and-Sherlock-Together-and-save-all-of-our-sanities_ is put on the backburner.

Until the unexpected happens.

Molly meets someone. A man. From her Uni days (because that wasn't a clusterfuck and a half the _last_ time.)

Greg is in the morgue going over an autopsy with Molly with Sherlock's running commentary from the other side of the room and John is falling asleep standing up ( _it's just like the old days_ , he muses) when the doors open and a tall, well-built man comes in. He's wearing trousers and a blue button up shirt. His eyes are an alarming shade of green and he has an easy-going smile. "Hey Molls, thought we'd grab a bite to eat-oh, hello there."

John's eyes pop open and he stares at the man, mouth gaping. Greg looks at Molly with a wounded expression (when did she have the time to meet a man? And why the fuck did she _not tell him_? Fantastic, he's turning into a bloody _woman_ ) and Sherlock, well, Sherlock tenses and turns around in his stool slowly, bright blue eyes burning and assessing the man in front of him.

The man shifts and turns his head towards Molly. "Is this… _okay_?"

Molly smiles and looks at him. "Phil, meet John Watson, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes. Everyone this is Phil. We know each other from Uni."

"Like you knew _Dennis_ from Uni?" Greg can't help but ask snidely. (So sue him, Molly withheld information from him. _Vital_ information. Potentially life threatening, if Sherlock's hard glare is anything to go by, information. _People these days_.)

"Dennis?" Phil asks confused.

"Long story." Molly says. She shrugs off her lab coat and puts on her regular one. "I'm starving. Let's eat. See you guys later!"

And then she's gone.

And Sherlock _explodes_ in a flurry of words and hand gestures.

Greg can't even keep up with half of what he's saying. He's talking fast and he's talking loud and he's _cursing_. _Sherlock Holmes_ is cursing. Because of _Molly Hooper_. Oh God. He needs to record this. Where's his phone? This shit is going viral. _Now_.

" _How dare she_?" He's running his hands through his hair and Greg knows he only does this when he's really truly frustrated.

"Maybe she's tired of waiting." Greg tells him.

Sherlock stops. "What?"

"Sherlock," Greg starts, "Molly has loved you for the past _five_ years. Understand that? _Five_. You've done nothing but hurt her and she's done nothing but be there for you. She risked her life _and_ job for you, not to mention she lied to me- _us_ " he corrects, hearing John's cough, "for three years to protect your secret. Now, _listen to me you stubborn little shit_ , you _like_ her. You _feel_ things for her. Don't try to bullshit me because I know. I see you. So, do me- _us_ " he amends at John's cough once again, "a favor and tell her that you have feelings for her and want to be in an exclusive relationship with her."

"I don't do relationships." He says haughtily.

"You bloody will with Molly." Greg snaps. "Stop being so emotionally stunted you big baby and just tell her how you feel because I swear to you I'm going to lose my goddamn mind and I really _will_ shoot you if you break her heart one more time."

Sherlock stares at him and then strides out the doors, leaving him and John alone.

"You know," John says, "I've always wanted to lock them in a closet."

Greg sighs with relief, "I thought I was the only one!"

(Talk of locking people in closets; threatening to shoot them, fake deaths…Christ, he _really_ needs to get new friends.)

* * *

Greg doesn't hear from Molly in forty-eight hours, which isn't really unusual but he's a bit worried that Sherlock said something to hurt her (and God help the high-functioning sociopath if he did) so he tells Lizzie that he's going to see her and make sure that everything is okay and that she's not wallowing in her self-pity alone. (He vaguely remembers thinking that he hadn't heard from Sherlock in forty-eight hours either. Not that he makes _that_ connection until it's too late.)

Lizzie tries to tell him to leave it alone. _Begs_ him really, but won't tell him why. Mary calls him and _orders_ him to leave it alone. John messages him and wants to know why Mary is cursing him up and down. He makes his way in (with the key that Molly had given him years ago) and lets himself into her flat. "Molly?" He calls out, shaking from the slight cold, "is everything- _sweet Jesus_! Cover up man!" He yelps, covering his eyes and turning around. "My _eyes_!" He bemoans. "Molly, I am so _so_ sorry."

"Greg!" Molly shrieks from her place underneath one very naked Consulting Detective on the sofa (he's _never_ sitting on that thing _ever again_ ). "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you! So I came to see you, obviously not expecting this-where's your bleach?"

"Didn't Lizzie or Mary tell you I was _busy_?"

_Oh, was that what they were trying to say? Well then why didn't they just say 'Molly can't come to phone right now because she's busy shagging the one man she's been in love with for five years and if you ruin this for her we'll end you.'_ He would have understood that. _Women_.

"I locked the door." Sherlock growled.

"I have a key."

"Think you can leave, Greg?" Molly asks.

" _YES_! I'm on my way out. Sorry!"

"Leave the key." Sherlock's voice is deep and strained and Greg doesn't even _want_ to know _why_.

He stumbles with the ring of keys and slams her key on the table and shuts the door on his way out.

Jesus Christ, that does it, he needs new friends.

(He's a little disappointed that he wasn't able to lock them in a closet though.)

(He won't _ever_ admit it to anyone, but for being so tall and lanky, Sherlock Holmes has a fantastically sculpted arse.)

* * *

"So…Sherlock?"

"Shut-up, Greg."

Greg laughs until he can't breathe and Molly blushes until she's a jumbled red mess.

* * *

_Three years after Sherlock's return (six years after the Fall)_

"He's so precious!" Mary squeals, she latches onto John's arm and they grin, balloons and teddy bears in their hands.

"Greg, he's going to have your eyes, I just know it." Molly comments as she smiles down at both Lizzie and their newborn son.

"It is physically impossible for you tell that at-"

"Shut-up, Sherlock." John says through his teeth.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and places a bag of presents on the table next to the window. He does so hesitantly, as if he doesn't know what to do in this type of situation. _He's out of his depth,_ Greg thinks humorously, before turning back to see Lizzie and his son.

His son. Jesus, he's a _father_.

"What's his name?" John asks.

"Vincent Sheldon Lestrade." Lizzie answers, happily but tiredly.

Mary and Molly coo at the same time.

They're all crowded into one room (Sherlock, John, Molly, Mary, Lizzie and himself) and he knows it's against hospital policy but the lot of them have never been one to follow rules, so why start now, right?

These past years have been long and tedious filled with ups and downs, outrageous laughter and gut-wrenching cries, loves and losses, marriages and pregnancies and reminding Sherlock time and time again that sometimes the things he says are _a bit not good._

"Oh, I can't wait to have mine." Mary proclaims.

Lizzie laughs and then winces. "Wait until the pain hits." She looks sideways at John and gives him a sympathetic smile, "I almost broke Greg's hand."

Greg snickers and flexes his hand. "I've regained some of the feelings in my fingers." He puffs out his chest and knows he has a stupid grin on his grin. "I'm a _dad_."

"Obviously." Sherlock comments. He's on the other side of the bed standing next to Molly as she continues to talk with Mary and Lizzie.

Ah, the Hooper-Holmes (or Holmes-Hooper, it really depends on who he's talking to at the time) relationship. It's an odd relationship; filled with dead body parts and quite possibly the most disturbing foreplay but oddly, it wouldn't be the same if they were just an ordinary couple. Being that _he's_ Sherlock Holmes and _she's_ Molly Hooper, everyone knew that their relationship would not be conventional. And it isn't.

Molly has gotten used to saying _no_ and takes pleasure in agitating Sherlock. Sherlock now knows when to comment on her weight gain or loss (thank God for small favors because Greg was going to _kill_ Sherlock when he stayed with him and Lizzie one night.) Needless to say, there have been threats and there's been one kidnapping (which sent Sherlock on a rampage throughout half of London and Greg happened to look the other way when said perpetrator ended up _dead_ with multiple shots to the head. It was a fucking _mess_. He got Anderson to clean it up.)

They don't say _I love you_ and Greg knows that they don't have to. With Sherlock and Molly, actions speak louder. So, it's in the soft looks and her hands through his hair that she tells him she loves him. It's through the numerous body parts and bags of blood that she tells him she's his forever. It's the lingering almost touches and the slight rubbing of his nose in her hair that he tells her he loves her. It's in the glowers he gives to men who seek her attention and the blatant disregard to any female who wants his that he tells her he's hers forever.

It's in the aftermath of rows when they gravitate towards each other, her head leaning against his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist that they promise to stand beside (never in front of or behind, but _always_ beside) each other.

"I will obviously teach them the art of observation and deduction." Sherlock says to Greg and John. He says this to John, as Mary is already six months pregnant.

John sputters. "I'm sorry what?"

"Well," Sherlock says impatiently, "who else is going to teach them it?"

" _Us_. Their _fathers_." Greg responds.

"I am not having my nephews be plebeians."

"What are they talking about?" Lizzie asks Molly.

Molly shakes her head. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they won't see their first dead body until they're at _least_ seven."

"Ten." John counters.

"I'd prefer _never_." Mary cuts in.

"It's inevitable," Greg agrees, "what with our jobs."

_God, we really are a morbid bunch, aren't they?_

His heart swells when he sees Molly discreetly slip her hand into Sherlock's and he grins when he sees Sherlock squeeze back.

"All I know," Greg says as he looks around the room at his group of mismatched friends who have been through hell and back for each other, "is that all our children are going to be fucking gorgeous and really _really_ brilliant."

They take a moment to let that actually sink in.

(God help the _entire world_ when the future generation of Watson's, Lestrade's and Holmes' grow up because they're going to be _unstoppable_.)

* * *

Greg has long since stopped trying to make new friends. He's even stopped thinking that he needs to get new friends because he's more than okay with the ones he has right now.

(In fact, he'll even go as far to say he _loves_ them. It's no lie though that he still wants to shoot Sherlock sometimes…okay, _fine_ , most of the time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed Sherlolly through Lestrade's eyes. I love him. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. I love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Nocturnias asked if it was possible for me to upload all my fics that I’ve written so far on AO3…darling, anything for you. Hope you guys enjoy and I apologize in advance for the sudden swarming of my fics on AO3.


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